


flies to honey

by TrekFaerie



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Explicit Consent, Eye Sex, F/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Oviposition, Sexual Experimentation, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Assigned to surveil the intimate relationship between renegades Aziraphale and Crowley, Beelzebub and Gabriel find themselves curious about each other's... efforts.And, boy. Did they make some.





	flies to honey

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a kink meme fill (for: https://onthedisc.dreamwidth.org/9084.html?thread=92284#cmt92284), but with the... liberties I've taken, I don't really feel like it's suitable for that. and yet, I can't just NOT share a fly junk monologue.
> 
> also I use female pronouns for beez because a female prince of hell is my personal fetish and also life goals.

It had to happen on the most neutral territory possible, somewhere neither Heaven nor Hell held dominion. After much sniping and griping, the most logical place was chosen: the Bexleyheath Marriott Hotel.

The implications of an ostensibly male person and an ostensibly female person sharing a hotel room in order to ostensibly consume pornography – as they had loudly informed the hotel check-in staff, several tourists, and a horrified maintenance man busy scraping a sudden infestation of wasp eggs from a wall she had brushed against – were completely lost on them. To Gabriel and Beelzebub, they were merely the unfortunate drawers of the proverbial short straw on a necessary but irritating task: checking in on the renegade angel and demon pair in order to make sure their coupling wasn’t having any sort of intended dire consequence on the fabric of reality itself.

They weren’t sure if it would, but they also weren’t sure if it wouldn’t. Neither side was. That was why they had to watch every time. To make sure. To keep an eye or two or four or a hundred on things.

“How did we get it in there in the first place?” Beelzebub was hanging off the foot of the bed – there was only one, as there generally is with these things – her arms folded across her chest and her narrowed eyes fixed squarely on the hotel TV’s screen. On it, two slightly blurry figures, one light and one dark, were tangled up on a much bigger bed than they had.

Gabriel shifted on his pillow perch at the head of the bed. The angle made her dress shirt ride up a bit, over her hipbones. There was a botfly taking a nap on the rim of her bellybutton. “Get what?” he asked, because there were a lot of things getting into things at the time, and he felt it was important to know what she meant before he answered.

“However we’re observing them.”

He scoffed. “Don’t you already know?” he asked. “Your side set this all up, didn’t they?”

She raised herself up in one smooth movement, like a corpse rising from a slab. “No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, but you kind of have this little ‘buzz’ noise at the end of certain words—“

“Shut up.” She didn’t say it with any particular malice; it was just something she said every time Gabriel spoke more than five words at once. “It’s not ours. I’d been assuming She set it up.”

He mulled it over. “It _is_ Her will that we do this.”

“For some bloody reason.”

“It’s to protect all of Creation!”

She snorted. “Maybe the first dozen times,” she said. “Now I’m just starting to think She likes it—“

“ _Hold your tongue_!”

A silence fell between them, as it usually did when she got a bit blasphemous. She glanced at the TV for a few more moments, attracted by the sound of a moan, before turning back to him. “Have you ever done it before?”

“Done what?”

She groaned. “Y’know… That.” She made a series of aggressive hand gestures that, while obscene, did not resemble any sex anyone had ever had. “Have you done that?”

“Of course I haven’t! I’m an Archangel.”

“Didn’t stop Michael—“

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Go back to work.”

Gabriel primly placed his hands in his lap. The events taking place on the screen… It wasn’t that he didn’t understand them, because he would never, ever cop to that, but he just… didn’t understand _why_. It seemed, on so many levels, a waste of time and effort. But, to him, most things that weren’t smiting the unworthy and filing paperwork seemed a waste. Maybe he wasn’t meant to understand it.

“Have you?” he asked.

She had elected to forgo her past hanging and instead splay herself out on the bed in an appropriately demonic way, the fingers of one hand just a breath away from where his feet, still in shoes, sat pressed firmly together. “Of course I have. Every day. Twice before I left this morning.”

He frowned. “You’re lying.”

“You think that, if you like. I am a demon, after all. We lie all the time.” She absently scratched at the place on her face where her lesions would be, if she weren’t dressed for interaction with mortals. “Those two… They do it the way humans would do. They make an effort to be as humans would be.”

“It’s disgusting,” he said, completely unbidden. It made her eyebrows jump. “I know that humans are Her beloved creation, and that everything they do is Her design, but…”

Her grin was too wide for her face. “Hell below, Gabriel, if I’d known that humans fucking was the chink in your holy armor, I would’ve brought this up millennia ago!”

He raised his hands defensively. “It’s just a… small consideration! It’s certainly nothing I would bring up outside of this room.” He glared slightly. “Ever.”

She stared at him, curiously. The only sound for minutes was the staticy wet noises of the TV and the hum of the room’s air conditioning unit. He shifted uncomfortably under her dull, relentless gaze.

Finally, she said, “And what sort of effort do _you_ make, Gabriel?”

Completely unsure on how he should respond to that sort of question, he decided that the most prudent option was to ignore her as loud as he possibly could. It did not work. She just grinned wider, wider, turning onto her side and curling a hand up against her chest. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

“We have to work,” he said, stiffly, desperately.

“Oh, it’s just at the part where they cry and tell each other they love each other for fifteen minutes. This sounds _much_ less nauseating.” A slight laugh. “Or more, perhaps. No idea what you’ve got going on under there, after all.”

He felt the strange urge to cross his legs, but since they were already pressed together as tightly as inhumanly possible, he couldn’t. “Well,” he said, “do it, then. Show me yours.”

Her smile was absolutely wicked. Hellfire burned behind her eyes. She looked happier than he had ever seen a demon – happier than he had known anyone, anywhere, could get. It was perfectly terrifying, but he did not leave.

“Y’see, Gabriel,” she said, speaking in a slow drawl, her hands trailing down until her fingers were hooked on the waistband of her trousers. “I’ve never liked what humans have got going on down there. Procreating, making more humans – it just not parasitic _enough_ , see? What’s the point of having young if they aren’t gonna eat their way out of whatever you laid them in? In fruit, in animals, in _humans_ … Now, flies? Flies have got it all sorted. If I’d been in charge of Creation, there’d be a lot more flies involved in everything. Not that there aren’t a lot of them now: botflys, blowflies, the lovely little tsetse…”

She dropped trou.

Between her thighs, pale and lean, there was… His mind struggled to come up with any word to describe it, as of all the words in God’s beautiful creation, the most applicable one seemed to be… She had a sharp, fang-like _spike_ between her legs, chitinous and serrated like the blade of a saw.

“The past few centuries, though, I’ve become a real big fan of one particular sort of fly. _Drosophila suzukii_. Lovely little pest. It doesn’t take the easy way out, that one; it doesn’t settle for rotted fruits for its young. It lays its eggs in fruit still on the vine. It’s a bit of a tough job, though; the skin of fresh fruit is harder than rotten. Sometimes it can’t pierce it. So much for Her perfect design, huh?” He didn’t even have the will to challenge her statement; he was stock still, frozen in place, staring blindly forward, even as she inched forward, the spike coming closer. “But, the lady fly, she’s got a way around that one. See, once she’s been fertilized, she goes and takes those little eggs to the fruit, and she takes out, well… Ovipositor, they call it. Cuts through the skin like a soft cheese. Nature always finds a way, doesn’t it?”

He felt a hand ruffle his hair. “There’s a bit of a problem with that, though. The male fly? He didn’t keep up with the missus. And her having a massive saw where he’s supposed to do his duty… Well. You can imagine. I’m sure you _are_ imagining. Are you imagining, Gabriel?”

“It sounds like a complete nightmare,” he breathed.

“I know. Beautiful, right?” She sighed wistfully. “… Gabriel.”

“Yes?”

“Kiss it.”

It was an order, there was authority behind it, and yet there was this sort of… he hesitated to call it _fondness_ , because he was convinced she would discorporate him right then and there if he even thought it, but it was something close enough to warm without being hellfire.

Keeping direct eye contact with her the entire time, he placed his lips around the tip of the ovipositor (a sharp intake of breath), drew his tongue over it, and when he pulled back, something small and gritty, like pieces of rice, stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“They’re not fertilized,” she said idly, as he, visibly irritated, flicked them away. “Not since Ligur… It was never on purpose, of course, but he just had a sort of… tendency. It doesn’t matter.”

He rubbed his mouth once more, for good measure, as she flopped back onto the bed. “I guess it’s my turn next,” he said, fumbling with his belt. “I don’t, uh, I don’t exactly have a _monologue_ about it or anything, but…”

Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. For a moment, she even looked impressed.

“You better come up with one, then,” she said, “because I’ve got more than a few questions.”

He blinked – and the thousands of eyes that crowded around his pelvis blinked in unison. They were all green.

“Well, uh…” He absently scratched the back of his neck. “The true angelic form, as you know…”

“That doesn’t cut it. I’ve been staring at the Principality Aziraphale’s cock and balls for about five months now, and I haven’t seen even a _small_ eye!”

“Well, most angels, when they take a corporeal form, all the eyes just… They stay with the two, but… I’m a little…”

“Out with it.”

He scrunched up his shoulders. “I… I worry about them when they’re gone,” he said, miserably. “What if they get lonely?”

“So, what, you just have them staring at your inseam all day? Meanwhile everyone who’s talking to you has absolutely no idea that your crotch is filled with an absurd amount of eyes?”

“You have a spike!”

“At least an ovipositor is something you can use to have sex to begin with! How do you even…”

She cocked her head to the side, lost in thought for a while.

“I’m not gonna ask for your consent, because I’m a demon,” she said, somewhat mechanically. “But, if I were to ask, I would ask if you’d be comfortable with me touching your weird crotch-eyes.”

“I would not give you my consent, because I am an angel, and you are a demon,” he said, replying similarly. “But, if I were to give it to you, I’d say that was fine, but please, be careful not to scratch their corneas.”

They nodded, and her hand immediately went to his pelvis.

“They’ve got little eyelashes and everything,” she said, just the slightest bit of childish wonder in her voice. She traced a finger over the lashes of one, watching it flutter; the others around it fluttered as well, and the more she did it, the farther the effect went, until they were all fluttering like flies’ wings. She glanced up to see his were as well, dark lashes pressed against his cheekbones. “How’s it feel?”

“It’s… I don’t know.”

“Hot?”

“Good.” He let out a shuddering breath. “It’s. Good.”

“Well,” she said lightly, “then that makes it alright, then.”


End file.
